The Fool King
by 3cars
Summary: Cailan musings prior to the Battle of Ostagar. Ties into 'Layman's Terms'. ONE-SHOT


**I'm not going to completely get into the debate, but I do believe Cailan was smarter than we were lead to believe. This is just a one-shot I conjured up about what could have been on his mind hours before his death, with my mage playing a part in the end (this ties into_ Layman's Terms_ somewhat). **

**Some Loghain and Anora dislike (I don't trust him, but I do let him live most of the time out of respect, okay? And I respect the lady, but don't trust her either).  
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**Read, review, enjoy - and for the love of God, please don't start a war on me if you don't agree with this.  
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**Disclaimer: no, thank you.  
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><p>Cailan stared across the fire, studying the man who was hovering over the new Warden - a highly acclaimed mage with a knack for causing trouble, it seemed. She hadn't gone completely unnoticed around the camp, although he was sure she had thought so. With that air of confidence, they should just stick her in the front lines with the men and women who were going to storm the darkspawn.<p>

He watched as the mage was giving the other soldiers a run for their money, as she smiled and cooed as they lost another hand. The men seemed flushed in the face, unsure how to deal with the amount of skin the mage was willing to show to turn the tables, or terribly sure what they were going to do about it, just wondering about _when_.

That's what troubled Cailan the most, not the fact that his men were gambling their lives away to a _mage_, but that his _brother_ was flustered over cleavage. How terrible an ordeal the man was in.

Alistair was a tenacious fighter, a fierce protector - that was just a given. One would think with a father like theirs, it would have been unfortunate for him to have not been able to hold a shield. And, considering the strict Templar training _bestowed_ upon him, it was just expected for him to know how to stick a sword into anything volatile that moved.

But as Cailan watched, he noticed Alistair was just as uneasy outside of the Temple as the mage was out of the Circle. Alistair wasn't bold enough to be able to hold a position high enough in normal ranks, and he would only be promoted due to his skill on the battlefield and by the luck of recommendation. The mage had too much of a mouth, something he was sure pissed off the good people of the Circle - she would perish under fire given the opportunity, or be hunted across lands for the rest of her life.

Lucky for them that Duncan had recruited them so soon.

Jealousy boiled in Cailan's stomach at that thought. He wanted such an honour as to join those ranks, to be one who was absolutely needed in times like these. The people didn't need a _King_ with a Blight looming, they needed the warriors who were taught how to kill those beasts and end the darkness. Not a man who sat on a throne and waited until the storm passed. His father didn't, and neither would he. That's why he was here, with deaf ears to the complaints of banns and arls alike.

Grumbling greeted his ears, redirecting his train of thought. A smile lit Cailan's features as the soldiers left the mage and Alistair alone, all coin lost to that one charming female. She tucked the coin into various folds of her robes, smoothing the creases until one couldn't tell that she was carrying more than was in the Quartermaster's chest - next to nothing. Her skin disappeared under the material as well, as if she had never shown such a thing to the world in the first place. A very good act, Cailan had to admit.

Alistair sat beside her, but with enough distance to tell he was awkward. She was torn between blatantly ignoring him and talking his ear off.

Cailan had an urge to force the two together. They came from two ends of their world, and honestly, it wouldn't hurt either of them. It hurt himself more to tell just how much they needed to be with each other. There was something both sickly sweet and absolutely terrifying about the pair being together. He wasn't quite sure what it would be, but that didn't bother him at that moment, only made his teeth ache.

Surely Alistair wouldn't object to some kind of brotherly-banter and the smallest titbit of advice?

That redirected Cailan. He wasn't quite sure if Alistair had been given the whole story about his _intervention_. Cailan had been the one to pass a small recommendation to Duncan. Between darkspawn and mages, the latter seemed the more dangerous option. Darkspawn had a tendency to crop up every few hundred years, and mages were around every waking hour.

He had no prejudice against the mages, of course, finding them utterly fascinating in fact. But Cailan knew the risks, and the measures taken to keep them in line. He had convinced the Templars to lessen up however, which had upset the Grand Cleric to no end, but when he had seen the other Circles, he didn't want his to end up like those. The other nations had _prisons_; he would make his as homely as he could.

Alistair was saved from a lifetime of standing around in the same cold tower, and he probably didn't know it.

And, truthfully, it was saving Cailan's ass. Should Cailan pass away before he had an heir, Alistair was there. Being a Templar, however, compromised that option, as he had committed himself to the Maker. Grey Warden was another committal, but there was more leg room available than the Chantry allowed. The Wardens made exceptions when time called for it. And, death called for a lot of things.

Cailan knew of Alistair before the moment his father had told him, when he had just turned eighteen in fact. He knew that no one had breathed a word of it in fear of Alistair wanting the throne. But Cailan had been there, had eyes watching Alistair because of the gnawing feeling as well. After a few weeks of certain paranoia, however, Cailan knew Alistair didn't want the throne if not despised it all because of the coddling and hate. Cailan didn't blame him in the slightest.

A letter was sitting on his desk, in the Royal Palace at that moment; addressed to Anora should he perish in the next fight. Cailan didn't think he was going to - honestly, who would think they were about to _die_? - however, he was taking a precaution.

If he died, Alistair would take the throne. No questions asked. A dead king's wish, and all that. Whatever _bullshit_ the nobles would buy. They wanted a Theirin on the throne; they would get one with a dash of whatever Alistair's mother was.

That was another matter altogether.

Cailan didn't buy the whole serving girl story. He knew his father enough that the man would never touch a woman unless they both wanted such a thing - and even then his father wouldn't. Too many risks involved. Only mages knew how to terminate, and they weren't exactly willing to divulge the secret. A Templar with a drunken tongue had spilled that information, saying it was the nastiest smelling liquid he had ever met and how he was glad he was not on the receiving end.

And then there was no way they had the same mother. His mother and father would not have been able to bring Alistair around - there was a five year difference, if he was counting right, and his mother passed when he was three. That was just impossible, and freaked him out quite drastically when he was in his youth. He had half expected to see his mother's corpse walking around after that thought had littered his brain.

Besides, there was some kind of ethereal glow about Alistair. Something akin to mages. Something that also didn't make sense, and left Cailan wondering about the origins of Alistair's mother more often than not.

Alistair was able to use some of the more developed Templar abilities without the need for lyrium - his drunken Templar had divulged that as well. Such an odd thing that left Cailan grasping for straws.

It did hurt his bid for Alistair to take the throne if he had a _mage_ for a mother. Bad enough that there was a serving girl as cover, and if what Cailan thought was true, he wasn't quite sure if the nobles would believe his words.

And then there was Anora. A part of him loved her dearly, loved the small smiles and the comfort behind her eyes, another part loathed her, loathed her short sentences and her lust for full control. The conniving, little -

"Your majesty?"

Cailan looked up, not before seeing the surprise in the Wardens' faces. Had they truly not noticed him? Well, he wasn't exactly in his armour … A small flush of joy passed through him as he realised he had passed for just another soldier.

"Duncan, do I have to remind you again?"

And here he was, ever so jovial, just a figurehead while his wife did all the work. She didn't know that he rewrote most of her letters, and turned things in his favour. That's how he managed to escape the witch for a few weeks to deal with the darkspawn. Just a few well placed words and he was away.

"Apologies ... Cailan ... but we should begin the meeting."

Cailan stood, watching as the mage rose at the same time. She gave him a quick sweep with her eyes, a notable look he had seen in the courtesans and whores - not that he was comparing her to one of those women, but his Templar friend did have a mouth on him ...

Her eyes narrowed, and he watched in a small amount of awe as she looked between himself and Alistair. Alistair remained oblivious to the critical look, staring off into a world only he could see, subconsciously or by choice, Cailan didn't know.

The mage bowed, murmuring her acknowledgement, and let her eyes slide over his face once more before setting off towards the crumbling meeting ground. Cailan was sure that Alistair would straighten her out, and she would open him up. But, that was if she kept Alistair alive. She knew. He had seen that look in only a few people privy to the information. That knowledge and understanding.

She knew what took years to reveal to people, only in a few moments. _Amazing_.

Duncan nodded to Alistair, who nodded back and went back to his faraway place. The concentration did spike Cailan's interest, and the small twitches in the man's hand seemed to be associated with swinging a sword. Cailan, when bored, would conjure up a glorious fight, and would tap out the battle using only his hand - with one finger, he would imagine himself parrying, and another to strike left, and another to strike right. Alistair was doing the same, it seemed.

Cailan walked beside Duncan, keeping a slow pace. "Try to be convincing."

Duncan let out a short laugh. "I can assure you, Your Majesty, that it won't be that hard. Our newest recruit is another matter, and she would be sure to incite some sort of response from Alistair. Although, Irving did provide measures to make sure she fell in line, if need be." There was discomfort in Duncan's voice at that, and Cailan wasn't quite sure what Irving had said. He wasn't sure he wanted to know.

The only thing he really did know about the element-wielding woman, was she was here for more than a need to bolster ranks. And not the first option either, but one of the last - not that they would tell her, if she didn't already know.

"I can't risk him out in the field, and it would just be rude to have her running around and die within hours of being a Warden. What did Irving suggest?" He through the question on at the end without much thought.

"Rude? No, I believe she would come back and haunt us," a short chuckle, "she is an odd one. But, I do understand the concern." Duncan ignored the King's question, and that pleased Cailan immensely, if irritated him at the same time. He wanted to know, but wasn't going to force it.

"Not just concern, Duncan," they reached the third pillar, the last before the long table, with which Loghain stood, sombre and bored. Cailan lowered his voice. "I can't allow Loghain to inflict more pain on my family - and that includes Alistair."

Duncan gave Cailan a curious look, but nodded. He knew. Duncan had been there, had seen it. Never said much about what had happened over the past few years, and the years prior to Cailan's ascension were just clouded in a mystery that would never be revealed. Cailan didn't press it, knowing the Warden's limits well enough, but he wanted to know.

Cailan walked up to Loghain, whilst Duncan went to finish the business with his recruits.

Immediately, he was Cailan _the fool king_, trying to play with soldiers like a child with a toy set whilst the big men handled everything else. The mage did bring up enough points, and thoroughly supported the King. Cailan wasn't sure if that was to do with what the Circle preached or her own opinion, but he appreciated the support. Duncan wanted to say something, but didn't. Loghain did win out in the end, not before throwing a venomous look towards the crowd.

Well, Cailan wasn't entirely foolish. He wondered if Loghain was going to make it home in time to receive a lovely _surprise_ for him. If Cailan didn't survive - he was an eternal optimist, of course - Loghain would get what was coming for him - if not for him, for his father and mother.

And Empress Celene claimed he was too much of a Ferelden. Loghain claimed he was far too Orlesian.

Well, he would show them. Even in death, he was his father's son - he had a way to leave his mark.

He just hoped Alistair would survive the bloody Tower of Ishal. That would royally screw up all his plans if his _brother_ died. And if he, ever the optimist, died as well … the Theirin line would end. That was _not_ an option.

His eyes flickered over to the mage, who was murmuring under her breath to Duncan, who just seemed to nod in response. He didn't know what the pair were nodding about, but a small nod from both of them to him made him feel like he had some respect from the crowd.

As the meeting diminished to himself, Duncan and the mage, she spoke. He watched, utterly enraptured, as a light blue left her right hand.

"You have my word, Your Majesty, that Alistair will not be harmed."

She pricked her finger, and in a child-like manner, made an 'X' over her heart. There was a pause, and as she wiped away the blood off her finger, Duncan escorted her away, with a look that plainly said 'we will discuss this later'.

Cailan leaned against the table and rubbed his eyes, sighing a sigh only a king could manage. The Warden made him feel like such a child, and yet showed him the utmost respect. Duncan didn't necessarily agree with the king's actions, but he did understand. Duncan had seen horrors he was not willing to detail, and that was find by Cailan, as long as he didn't receive too big a lecture.

He was only taking precautions, after all. He was _not_ going end his line so soon with a stupid mistake. He was _not_ going to regret this measure taken to ensure a Theirin on the throne. He was _not_ going to lose to anyone.

And if he did, he _was_ going to have the last laugh, damn the consequences.

He only hoped the mage upheld her end of the bargain.

If not, well, she would be _dead_.


End file.
